


The Ketchup Incident

by elegant_fleuret



Series: Trash Can Girlfriend [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, POV Second Person, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegant_fleuret/pseuds/elegant_fleuret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before you met Papyrus, you met Sans. Before you met Sans, you ruined his shirt.</p><p>((Side story to 'Stimuli' but you can read it solo!))</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ketchup Incident

**Author's Note:**

> A/N So, I hate puns and am really bad at them, this is why I don't write Sans.

Friday and Saturday nights were the only nights that Sans kept his hotdog hut open past seven. Or, well, he closed it at seven, took five-hour break, then re-opened again at midnight.  
  
It was something that he had noticed about humans that those night, of all nights, they came out in droves, wobbling down from the inner city on the way back to their homes. Passing his stand on the way. Flipping out that cheap food was readily available and dropping mad cash to shove the monster brand meat filled buns in their pie holes. Some of them then vomiting into the trash can nearby.  
  
In the day time most humans seemed to avoid his stand, still unnerved by the presence of monsters in general, scared to eat anything made by them. But these night-time humans, slurring their words and reeking of alcohol, loved them. Loved spending their money on them too, which was most important.  
  
It was as warm summer Saturday night and those inebriated humans were out on the prowl.  
  
Sans handed over a double-dog special to one of his repeat customers, gladly accepting the dollars in return. “Enjoy your hot dog, kid.”  
  
Clangs of a few quarters dropping on top of more change on the glass ‘tips’ jar was music to the skeleton’s non-existent ears. Third time that night it had been filled to the brim, thanks to the plethora of very gracious humans. It felt heavy in his hands and, boy, that made him feel good. Living in the human world cost a lot more than the underground. A few twist of his wrist and the metal cap screwed on, ready to be put away with the rest of the money from the day, ready to come home with him.  
  
With a curt nod to himself, he flipped the small wooden ‘Open’ sign around to ‘Closed’. Definitely deserved it after such a hard day, slopping out hot dogs to drunks. The small water boiling and filtration system stopped its mechanical hum with a click of a button. With money safely stuffed into his jacket and no other reason to stay any later, Sans let himself out the back entrance. There wasn’t even a need for a lock or store front barricade. Humans didn’t dare mess with the stand.  
  
The last customers stood in a small group on the sidewalk, chumming it up and chowing it down. He watched them in mild fascination. How did the young adults of this species even survive pass this age he had no idea. They obviously didn’t care about their health. Which was apparent as the group started to egg on one of their members to ‘chug, chug, chug’.  
  
Seemed that they had taken one of the many ketchup bottles from the stand, seeing as you held it in a rather dramatic fashion over your open mouth. Both of your hands squeezed the plastic bottle, forcing the contents out, much to the satisfaction of your friends. Sans couldn’t help but chuckle. A girl after his own metaphorical heart, maybe he could stay a little bit longer to watch how this played out.  
  
The bottle of ketchup began to make farting noises but you were filled with drunken determination to follow through. Thank goodness the condiment of choice was ketchup and not mustard. You would’ve had to back down from the challenge, lose your street cred, be ribbed at your failure for months to come.  
  
With mild difficulty you swallowed down the last of the viscous tomato goo. If you had to guess you just swallowed at least a cup and a half of ketchup. The small crowd around you cheered as you spiked the empty bottle on the ground.“Told you I could do it, I TOLD you!”  
  
By some perfect timing you looked past your friends and caught Sans’ eye across the sidewalk. Immediately you recognized him as the stall’s owner. Not like you had seen very many walking, talking skeletons around town. Being the ever so polite person you were, even drunk, you bent down to pick up the defeated ketchup bottle. It may not have won but it deserved to be returned back to its rightful owner’s stand. Your stomach gurgled in protest at the movement but you ignored it.  
  
Sans watched as you walked in an almost straight line towards him. Those ridiculous high-heeled boots obviously didn’t help you out any. He was skeptical of what you were going to do but you just drank a whole bottle of ketchup, how bad could you be.  
  
“That was pretty impressive,” he said once you were a few steps away. Didn’t have any witty puns at the moment but did want to congratulate your human body at such an accomplishment. Which was just a normal, everyday thing for him.  
  
You snapped your fingers at him and smiled, “And I couldn’t’ve done it without you, Mr. Hot Dog Guy.”  
  
It looked like you attempted to place the bottle down gently on the vacant counter but clearly missed. With one misplaced bounce, it flew off, disappearing onto the dark floor of the hut. Aw, shit. An attempt was made to grab the bottle; with some effort you heaved yourself over the counter but to no avail. Arms too short, floor to far away, way too drunk. All you got was the hard wooden edge cutting into your now sloshing gut.  
  
“Sorry, dude, I tried. I tried so hard.” You smacked a closed fist against the counter. How dare it come between you and your polite gesture. Looks like you were one-for-two on your scoreboard of You vs Inanimate Objects for the night.  
  
Sans shrugged. For being the owner of the hut he really didn’t seem to care about his material objects. “Don’t worry, one day you’ll ketchup to it.”  
  
Drunk you found the very bad pun a lot funnier than sober you ever would. The group of friends that you had showed up with surely heard your loud laugh from ten feet away rather clearly. They didn’t even glance over. Obviously, they weren’t concerned that you were talking to a monster, alone, in the middle of the night.  
  
The upper part of your stomach began to burn on the inside. Your hand drifted down to gently hold onto your stomach, trying to ignore the irritation with your laughter. Although this was a sensation you really couldn’t ignore with humor. Within seconds your face flushed, feeling hot and turning pale, acidic bubbling erupting up your esophagus. Strong saliva flooded your mouth and you knew exactly what was going to happen next.  
  
“Oo-ooh, shit. Oh shit.” A very familiar and very unwelcomed involuntary bodily function was about to go down. That ketchup must’ve really not mingled well with the four strawberry coladas you had earlier at the club. You eyes frantically searched for a trash can but, alas, the nearest one was back with your group. Defiantly wouldn’t be able to make it in time. Just your luck. “Ohshitohshitohshit-”  
  
“Hey, kid, you okay?” A human that chugged ketchup and laughed at his joke, Sans almost felt obligated to care at your sudden change in demeanor. He took a few steps closer, ignoring your frantic hand waving for him to stay back. “You’re looking a little-“  
  
Whatever pun he was going to make died the instant you reached out to grab his shoulder, doubled over, and promptly vomited on him.  
  
Stomach acid made the combination of alcohol and ketchup a horribly viscous mess. It dripped down the front of his shirt, dripped down the inside, clung to his exposed sternum. God, it even got on his favorite slippers.  
  
Shock, disgust, horror, an unholy trinity of all three. Whatever it was, it kept Sans frozen, unable to move, unable to form thoughts, and hoping against all hopes that you did not just do what you did. But that bright red staining his clothes grounded him in reality. If he had eyebrows they’d be twitching, if he had lips they’d be frowning.  
  
You looked up, horrified yourself at what the fuck you just did, and locked your eyes to Sans’ eye sockets. Boogers dripped from your nose, tears dripped from your eyes, red vomit dripped from your chin. “Oh my god, I am so sorry!”  
  
All positive thoughts Sans had about you flew out the window and you instantly were awarded in his mind as the most disgusting human he had ever come into contact with. Especially as the second wave hit you and you puked all over him again.  
  
-  
  
That was the last night you went out with that particular group of friends, last night you went out clubbing all together. It was just better for your life all around.  
  
For the past two months since the incident, you had gone by the hot dog hut almost once a week with the sole intention of apologizing. The monster inside always tensed when he saw you in line. Wasn’t rude or mean, didn’t ignore you, but it was more than apparent he didn’t like you. Still served you hot dogs, though. You made sure to tip him a full twenty percent each time, hoping that the money would assuage your guilt.  
  
You let out a disheartened sigh, walking in the direction of the hut. Not like you went out of your way. Just altered one street on your way home from work and, boom, you were there. Wasn’t a lot of customers there today, you noticed as you got closer. Only one monster stood at the counter. A rather tall skeleton wearing some weird armor yelled at the smaller skeleton, who you assumed was inside the hut that day like always.  
  
Patiently you took your place behind the new skeleton, waiting for your turn. Sans looked away from the other and noticed you, then groaned. “It’s you again.”  
  
“I’m sorry!” You blurted out.  
  
Sans jerked his head in your direction. “That makes apology number,” he paused to count on his fingers, “eighteen. Going for a record?”  
  
An embarrassed heat took over your cheeks, turning you red. It only amplified when the taller skeleton turned to look at you then said, “Oh! Is this the human that evacuated their stomach contents on you, brother?” Great, looks like you had become one of his ‘wacky human stories’. Did he tell it at monster parties? You hoped not.  
  
“Yeah, that’s me. The human that barfed all up on this dude.” At least he couldn’t say you were a liar, you owned up to your shitty life decisions. Out of routine you exchanged your money for the hotdog in Sans’s hand, letting him keep it all. With no ketchup. “I’m… I’m going to go now.”  
  
“You know, you don’t have to keep saying sorry. I don’t have a bone to pick with you or anything.”  
  
As you walked away you could hear the two skeletons banter with each other. You thought maybe you were hearing things but, no, you most certainly heard the very distinct voice of the taller skeleton yell out “You never told me how cute she was without the puke on her face!”  
  
That was the last day you came to apologize.


End file.
